


war, children, it's just a shot away

by austen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austen/pseuds/austen
Summary: They're at a crossroads here, with Dean in the front seat and Sam still standing in the parking lot, visible in the rearview mirror but still not moving from the spot Dean's left him on. Spoilers for 5x01: "Sympathy for the Devil".





	

They're at a crossroads here, with Dean in the front seat and Sam still standing in the parking lot, visible in the rearview mirror but still not moving from the spot Dean's left him on. Dean already knows what he's doing, can see the little wheels turning in Sam's head as he processes and reprocesses Dean's words, mulling them over in his head and _goddamnit, Sammy, why do you have to read so much into every little thing?_ He pounds a fist against the steering wheel, not harsh enough to split skin but hard enough to smart and hisses between his teeth.

His right hand is swelling, his left hand is bleeding underneath the bandages, and between the two, he can't feel a damn thing.

 

They're in a different motel tonight. The other's covered in wood, splinters and dust, with Bobby's blood soaked into the moldy carpet. Out of guilt, Sam leaves a few bills tucked under the bedside lamp - for damages, he tells Dean. Everything was damaged long before a demon decided to hitch a ride in Bobby and throw a punch, but Dean doesn't say what he wants to, just bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste metal. 

They leave the room keys inside and the door unlocked, and when they finally get it together to leave, it's almost too quiet. Sam doesn't complain about it when Dean reaches for the knob on the stereo, flicking it up to deafening with a couple fingers.

Dean stares straight ahead, eyes burning twin holes into the road.

 

The television's on mute, its glow the only source of light in the room, but neither of them are sleeping, and the weight of the mattress sinks down under their combined weight as Sam slides in behind him. Dean breathes steady, squeezes his eyes shut, hopes his brother can't feel his body tense and stiffen, and instead of throwing an arm around his waist, pulling him in close, burying his nose between his shoulderblades and taking in the scent of him, Sam lays still. Still and stiff. If it weren't for the warmth of Sam's forearm against his back, the slow and shaking way he sighs when he's trying not to cry - Dean closes his eyes against all of it.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but in the morning, Sam's bed and the room are empty, and it feels like last month, and for a minute, Ruby isn't dead and his brother's eyes are black.

Sam opens the door to the room, flooding his vision with light, and Dean throws a hand up in front of his eyes.

"Sorry," Sam says, but Dean's already dressing, whipping the laces on his boots hard enough to let the ends sting the backs of his hands.

It dawns on him, later, that that isn't all Sam's apologizing for.

 

The sky's static, bristling, grating with the kind of energy that screams more than global warming, the way the news keeps saying, and Dean drives right into the approaching storm. There's nothing but farmland, before them and behind them and all around them, and next to him, Sam sleeps on, dreaming of seals and white, white light. The sound of thunder, an abrupt clap overhead, wakes him; he jerks away from the window as raindrops pelter the roof of the Impala. Dean's hand never falters on the wheel, and the road slickens beneath the tires, grows slippery. Treacherous.

"Dean," Sam says, but Dean doesn't turn, and the toe of his boot digs in, and the car surges forward. The pedal's nearly against the floor and the back starts to fishtail and Sam's hand clutches at the leg of his jeans but Dean doesn't slow down.

"Dean," Sam repeats, in more of a warning, but Dean can hear the fear in it, too, barely brimming over. "Are you crazy? You're gonna get us _killed_ \--"

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing right now," he snaps back.

It's the first sentence, apart from some grunts and yeses, that he's said in days, and Sam swallows hard and tries to muster a reply.

Dean drives for hours in the downpour and the words echo, tasting bitter in his mouth.

But it's just as well, because it's stupid of him to think they have anything resembling a future, that any of this would last much longer. Because they're starting to bump up against the edges of their life expectancy, and maybe all of this is just one big reality check. Because Dean knows, despite the other half that tries to convince him otherwise, that if everything followed its natural course, the way it was supposed to, they would've been gone and buried a long time ago.

 

What Sam doesn't understand is that Dean _wants_ to trust him, wants things to go back to the way they were before the blood, before Lilith, before Ruby came into their lives and seeped in through all the cracks. But Sammy's always been the trusting type, the one who looked on the face of liars and saw truth, who gave away everything and got nothing in return for it. And maybe he's just had to learn the hard way, from John, that open hands usually come attached to the two-faced back-stabbing betrayers. Sam was spared from all that at Stanford, but even out on the road, he's the one who offers the sympathy to the victims' wives while Dean stands back and shuffles his feet and looks around for the closest thing to a bar.

It's something he never thought he'd see, much less hear himself say: Sam trusting a demon over him.

It's something that's leading to them slipping apart, and maybe it's not so much a matter of trust as it is the fact that Dean couldn't do anything about it when it happened. As it happened.

He can't do anything about it now, either, and Sam hasn't said a word since they put Maryland behind them, except in his sleep.


End file.
